"I don't think Wehutti is even in contact with them," Obi-Wan said.
"He'll see no one."
"He will see us," Qui-Gon said firmly.
Wehutti's door was locked and bolted. Qui-Gon knocked loudly. There was no answer.
"We know he doesn't want visitors," Qui-Gon said. He withdrew his lightsaber from his belt. "But I don't think we need an invitation."
Qui-Gon activated the lightsaber and used it to cut through the lock.
He pushed open the door easily.
The hallway was empty, as were both rooms in the front of the house.
Cautiously, they moved up the stairs. They checked one room after another until they found Wehutti in a small back bedroom.
Food trays littered the floor. Thick blankets hung over the windows, cutting out all light. Wehutti sat in a chair pulled up to a window, even though he could not see out of it. He did not turn as they walked into the room.
Qui-Gon walked into Wehutti's field of vision and crouched down in front of him.
"Wehutti, we need to speak with you," he said.
Slowly, Wehutti turned to Qui-Gon. "There was so much confusion. I was prepared to shoot, of course. But I don't think I did."
Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan. Wehutti was reliving the day of Cerasi's death.
"There were more of the Young than we'd thought," Wehutti continued.
"We didn't think we'd actually have to use our weapons. We didn't think they'd be armed. And I didn't think that my daughter, my Cerasi, would be there. She didn't carry a weapon, did you know that?"
"Yes," Qui-Gon said.
"I had seen her a short time before. She'd come to see me. You didn't know that."
"No, I didn't," Qui-Gon said gently.
"We talked. She wanted me to stop fighting the Young. I argued. It wasn't a good visit. But then… she suggested that we not talk about things as they are, but things as they were. Her childhood. We had a few good years, before the war began again. And I remembered it all suddenly. I hadn't thought about it in so long."
Tears began to fall down Wehutti's cheeks.
"I remembered her mother. I remembered my son. Cerasi was our youngest.
She was afraid of the dark. I used to stay in the room until she fell asleep. I sat by her sleep-couch and kept one hand on it so she would know I was there. She would touch my hand from time to time as she fell asleep. I'd watch her," Wehutti whispered. "She was so beautiful."
Suddenly, he bent over in the chair, his forehead hitting his knees.
Great sobs came from his body. "There was so much confusion," he said in a choked voice. "I didn't see her at first. I was looking at Nield. My wife is buried in that Hall. Her ashes lie there. I couldn't let them do it."
"Wehutti, it's all right," Qui-Gon said. "You did what you had to. So did Cerasi."
Wehutti raised his head. "So you say. So you all say," he repeated tonelessly.
"And now your supporters are mobilizing to fight another war," Qui-Gon said. "Only you can stop them. Can you do that, for Cerasi's sake?"
Wehutti turned to Qui-Gon. There was no expression in his eyes, and his face seemed bleached of all color. It glistened with the marks of his tears.
"And how will that help Cerasi? I don't care about war or battles. I can't stop anything from happening, that's clear. I have no hatred anymore. I have nothing."
"But Cerasi would want you to help," Obi-Wan said.
Wehutti turned toward the window that had no view. "There was so much confusion," he said numbly. "I was ready to shoot. Perhaps I did. Perhaps I killed her. Perhaps I did not. I will never know."
Obi-Wan felt a sense of hopelessness move through him as they left Wehutti's house. If Wehutti wouldn't interfere, war seemed inevitable.
Qui-Gon walked thoughtfully by his side. Obi-Wan had no idea what he was thinking. But that wasn't unusual. Even when they were Master and Padawan, Qui-Gon often kept his thoughts to himself.
They turned a corner and almost ran into Nield. Startled, Nield quickly skirted them. He did not look at Obi-Wan so much as look through him, as though he were invisible.
Obi-Wan's step faltered. He still wasn't used to the impact of Nield's hatred.
"You said that Nield accused you of being an outsider," Qui-Gon remarked. "Was this just because you opposed his decision to demolish the Halls?"
"That's when it started," Obi-Wan said. "He was angry at Cerasi, too.
But things are worse now."
"Since Cerasi's death?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "He… he said that her death was my fault. That I should have been watching out for her instead of trying to save the Hall. He said that because of me, she rushed to the scene that day."
Qui-Gon looked at him thoughtfully. "And what do you think?"
"I don't know," Obi-Wan whispered.
"Nield has accused you of what he fears he himself did," Qui-Gon said.
"If he hadn't been so adamant about the Halls, Cerasi would still be alive.
He's also afraid that he killed Cerasi, just as Wehutti is. They are both afraid they fired the fatal shot."
Obi-Wan nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. He couldn't think of that day without being swamped by feelings of guilt and loss.
Qui-Gon stopped. "Cerasi's death was not your fault, Obi-Wan. You cannot prevent what you cannot see coming. You can only do what you think is right at each moment as you live it. We can plan, hope, and dread the future. What we cannot do is know it."
You can only do what you think is right at each moment as you live it.
Was Qui-Gon also talking about Obi-Wan's decision to stay? Hope rose in Obi-Wan. Had he forgiven him?
Qui-Gon began to walk again. "Here we have two grieving people who are secretly afraid they've killed the person they loved most in the world.
Perhaps the key to peace is as simple as the answer to a question: Who killed Cerasi? Sometimes whole wars can turn on one tragic loss."
Qui-Gon had not been talking about Obi-Wan's decision. His mind was fixed on the problem at hand. As it should be. He was treating Obi-Wan with compassion, but it was compassion with distance. He hadn't forgiven Obi-Wan.